


Tapestry

by dawnchsr



Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnchsr/pseuds/dawnchsr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief moments as seen through the eyes of Team Viking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tapestry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Henrycat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Henrycat).



> A birthday gift for the lovely HCat

Myron  
False dawn streaked the indigo skies with pinks and reds as Myron leaned back against the sandbags. He lit up his first cigarette of the day, watching the morning begin to chase back the night through half lidded eyes. This was the hush, that time when everything around him felt like it held its breath, suspended between dark and the light. It was that precious stolen moment when he hung there too, when for the space of a minute he wasn't anyone and there wasn't a war going on just the other side of the camp fence. But then a door slammed somewhere behind him, pots rattled and clanged and the murmur of sleepy voices carried on the breeze to him, breaking the trance. Myron gave a last glance at the skies before dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his boot and then left. 

Zeke  
Taylor and Percell were having a spirited difference of opinion. At least that's what Doc called it. Zeke just leaned back in his chair there at the Team House, watching the pair snap and snarl at each other, their voices barely louder than the general noise of the busy room. He wasn't paying much attention to what they were sniping about; there wasn't really any point. They were blowing off steam and so long as it didn't come to blows, Zeke let them have at it. Johnson gave him a long-suffering look then nodded to Doc who only shrugged. The boy knew better than to open his mouth. Zeke had sat so he could watch the door. Outside it poured, the rain hitting the metal roof with a roar, spilling off the sides of the building like a waterfall. Earlier, Zeke had asked Goldman to come join them for a beer. There was a time the L-T would do that, like back at Tan Son Nhut. The door swung open and a soldier came in, his poncho dripping but Zeke knew without even seeing his face it wasn't the boy. He sighed and took a long drink of his beer and found Doc watching him. 

Doc  
It was a bad situation gone to worse when McKay came roaring into the LZ, door gunners lighting it up behind the team as they ran for the safety of the slick. Percell leaped in and reached back, grabbing Doc by his web gear and yanked him in, sending Doc sprawling across the shuddering floor. The rest of the team jumped in, Doc scrambling to get out of the way when he got blinded by a spray of blood. The door gunner slumped forward, McKay shouting. Anderson was the last to get in, yelling to get them the hell out of Dodge. Ruiz took over the sixty as Taylor and Johnson took the kid and laid him on the deck. Doc grabbed his kit and pushed Taylor out of his way. The kid looked up at him in pure terror, choking on his own blood, his chest ripped open. Doc caught his face between his hands, said he'd be okay and watched helplessly as the boy slipped away. 

Brewster  
Carl took no small satisfaction in knowing what went on in his camp. He didn't like surprises or being blindsided. He stayed in the shadows of the building, watching Team Viking's oddball medic. At this late hour, Brewster wasn't exactly sure what the boy was up to on the landing platform there in the middle of the camp on a moonless night. Whatever it was, getting caught was not part of the plan and well, Carl was curious enough to let the medic finish whatever mischief he was up to. It didn't take Hockenbury long before he took his supplies and slipped off into the darkness in the direction of the team's barracks. Carl came over and climbed up on the platform to check out the damage. The boy had a pair of brass ones, Carl had to admit, finding himself grinning and shaking his head. And give the medic style points—because in the middle of a special forces camp of elite soldiers, the squirrelly conchie medic accomplished his covert op with no one the wiser. 

McKay  
Johnny missed his family. He missed his mom's Sunday pot roast and his sisters all teasing the hell out of him. He couldn't remember the last time he hugged any of them, it seemed like a lifetime ago. He wondered what they thought of him now. So much had changed and he kept telling himself he was the same Johnny McKay, hot chopper jock and lady killer. But he couldn't help thinking about what he told Myron once—that he was at the top of his game right here in Vietnam, flying slicks into hot LZs as the bullets flew. Sometimes he'd lay awake at night, like tonight and stare at the ceiling and wonder what all this made him. What it said about him that he thought he'd die once back in the real world because there was no real Johnny McKay if there was no Vietnam. 

Johnson  
Taylor walked beside Marvin, hands shoved in his pockets, bitching and moaning as he usually did about everything and then some. Percell and Ruiz trailed behind them as they wove their way through the crowded Saigon streets on a rare day pass. They wanted to get drunk and possibly laid and not necessarily in that order. Marvin, well, felt he should a bit more circumspect being a sergeant and all. Someone had to keep these guys out of trouble. Several kids, local street rats, came running up, begging for MPCs, eyes dark and filled with nothing. Their clothes were tattered, faces smudged in dirt. He pushed a few bills into seeking hands, shooing them off. Taylor just gave him a look but Marvin hadn't missed his buddy shoving money into grubby hands as well. Taylor liked to play at being "all that" and above it all, but Marvin knew better. He hoped it would be enough to see his friend through all this mess and go home a human being. He hoped that for all of them, really. 

Percell  
Picking up the pieces after his colossal fuck up of drugs and going AWOL wasn't going to be easy. He didn't like it, but he understood he did it to himself. And he had no one to blame but himself. But sitting at the table there in the mess with what was his family right now at Thanksgiving was a helluva a lot harder than he thought it would be. Goldman flicking that icy look over him made Danny want to shrink and bury his head. Everyone else forgave him for the bullshit he put them through. Everyone but the L-T. The warmth of the occasion to be there with his buddies, his team, slipped away as he met Goldman's eyes and swallowed. There was a challenge there, he realized. An unspoken one that made Danny sit up and raise his head instead of flinching away like a whipped dog. Something hung in the air between them but Danny refused to look away. "That's better." Goldman spoke as if no one else was there. And Danny let out the breath he'd been holding. 

Ruiz  
Roo had no problem with Doc. Okay, he did when they first met him and he shot his mouth off. But Roo understood Doc's motivation now, even if he didn't see it back at Tan Son Nhut. And Taylor could bitch all he wanted about the guy and he did but that didn't change Ruiz's respect. When they were under fire and the chips were down, Doc never flinched from crawling out to a wounded man to try and save him. Ruiz had to admire that. The guy had a pair, no two ways around it. And who knew Doc could be so damn sneaky? Yet here he was, cleaning Taylor out of everything he had in his pockets as they played darts at the Team House. Ruiz supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Hockenbury could hustle Taylor. He grinned at Johnson as both he and Percell paid him for the bet he'd made, backing Hockenbury instead of Taylor. He'd be sure to thank the medic later. 

Taylor  
Marcus had a reputation to uphold and protect. He was slick, he was smart and he knew how to be an operator. Sure, it had gotten his ass in trouble a couple of times, like that scrape back at Tan Son Nhut that ultimately had the L-T bailing him out. Who'd have thought? But that didn't change the image he made sure everyone saw, the one he wanted them to see. Reputation was everything, be it here on the streets of Saigon or back on the block in Detroit. So he made sure no one saw him when he slipped sweets and money to the street orphans. It was one thing to hand over a couple of MPCs same as the guys when they were in Saigon, that was allowed. Taylor knelt in the shade of an awning, slipping money to a sad little girl he'd seen on more than one occasion. He gave her a sack of C-rats he'd snuck out of the barracks with as well. She looked at him with large dark eyes, then darted off, but not before Taylor caught sight of two little faces peering around the corner. They disappeared with her and Taylor got up, dusting his hands on his pants and found Doc leaning against a railing. "You say anything and I'll personally skin your boney ass." Doc gave him a slow grin then walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling a tune Taylor didn't recognize.


End file.
